


Building Gods: A Study In Pink

by Dirty_Corza



Series: Silver Ecstasy [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Parallel Universes, Smut, cab chasing, john is BAMF, mycroft is also a demon, origional au, sherlock is a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a demon. John is a demon hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where the Lines Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a parallel AU, coinciding with A Study In Pink.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory ala John

John was a demon hunter. Not by profession, but by blood. He was one of the few humans that existed and could see who was really human, and which were demons masquerading as humans. His father was a demon hunter before him, and his father before him, and so on down the Watson line. It wasn't even a choice anymore, really, whether or not he continued in his father's footsteps. Being a demon hunter just came naturally to him.

But a demon hunter wasn't something that paid very well. He needed a source of income, a steady job. So he became a doctor, applying to join the military. It would allow him to travel, give him plenty of action in his daily life, and take him to the war, where most demons stayed. They liked the bloodshed and the power they gained from it just as much as he liked being able to hunt them down.

Why did he hunt them down? Because they gave him nightmares, because just being looked at by one made him feel like something unpleasant had been put down his pants, because their voices grated on his brain, because... There were many reasons for it, but it was mostly because they were so horrifying to what he wanted to believe. He wanted to believe in Right and Wrong, Good and Evil, but they didn't fit that. They had no morals, nothing to stop them from doing anything just because they felt like it.

So he hunted them. Though hunted wasn't perhaps the right word for it. It was more that he had no qualms about taking too long to rescue an injured demon, no qualms with shooting them when he got the chance. He didn't go searching for demons to kill, and no they weren't the most common things in the world, but there were enough of them searching wasn't something he needed to do. He was even reasonably certain that after a time they came back, weaker, and without the memory of who killed them. But that hypothesis was one he had no real evidence of, even in his mind. All he knew was there were an illogical number of demon people that looked near identical to demons he'd already taken care of.

\- - -

When John was sent back to London, it was with two injuries. One, the obvious one, was the gunshot to his shoulder. Highly visible, painful, obvious. And a wound that had done enough damage he had to be sent back. His second wound, though, wasn't quite the same. A demon had nearly broken his hip. There was no physical evidence of it, but the break in his soul's armor was taking a long time to heal and he could feel it. He limped, keeping his cane hand near to it, just in case he needed the added protection. You could never be too safe, especially with a wound like that that nearly screamed 'I fought with a demon and won'.

His first few months back were spent being self-preserving. He spoke to almost no one, looked for jobs without much in the way of motivation, and went to a therapist. He only went out for the shopping, or when he was with a large group of other people. It never hurt to be cautious. He was being very safe, safer than he really needed to be, he knew, but he didn't care. His first months home, he wanted safety first and foremost, even if he was bored out of his mind. He knew it wouldn't last. He knew he would wake up and know that he was ready for the risk again.

\- - -

The risk, as it turned out, was allowing Mike to help him find a flat mate. It wasn't something he planned, just came up in conversation. He needed something more to life than a therapist and dull blog, and Mike knew someone who needed a flatmate. It sounded like a good deal. He followed him to St. Bart's, prepared for most anything, except what he got. He didn't expect a doctor or anything like that, but he expected someone human, someone normal.

What he got was Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading this! And a special thanks to timeywimeyholmes for giving me the inspiration for it!
> 
> I do not own Sherlock, any of the actors or characters, or things like that.


	2. I Write Sins Not Boring Bricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's first meeting.

Asking Mike to help him find a roommate was something Sherlock Holmes did for amusement. He knew how much more his mind saw than your average human, and he knew just how different his mind worked. He was different from your average demon, though. He knew, if he tried, he could pass for one of them. But he just didn't want to blend in. He liked the power, the rush of showing off for those below him. He could keep his mind active, studying these fascinating things called humans, and not have to worry about being too smart, or too crass, or too anything. They had words for humans like him, and for the first time in centuries, he was free to be himself.

Finding a flatmate was not something he actually expected to do. Mike was an idiot -all humans were, really- and as such was highly unlikely to find a human willing to put up with Sherlock. A demon, more probable, but Sherlock wasn't about to live with one of his own kind. Even he had his limits. He liked his freedom, and no demon would let him have that if he let them live in his house. His own brother barely allowed him to, monitoring all his movements, interfering with his life. No, no demons, but a human, if interesting enough, would be perfectly acceptable.

The only question he had was would any human be both interesting enough he wanted them for a flatmate, and willing to put up with him. He was beginning to have his doubts. He went back to his work, peering at the slides, with a slight marvel at how humans had come up with things like this, when Mike walked in, bringing someone with him.

Sherlock's eyes immediately moved over the figure, taking in all the details he could. Hair cut -military-, left shoulder -injured-, right hip -injured, by a demon-, the comment he made as he walked in, something like “back in my day” Sherlock was getting distracted if he couldn't quite remember it -doctor-, tan -military doctor, recently back-. It was all adding up to one thing, one very important, fascinating thing. This man -John Watson, was it?- was a demon hunter.

“Can I use your phone?” he asked in Mike's general direction, waiting for the response he knew would be coming.

“Sure, let me just-” the man ruffled fruitlessly through his pockets, just as Sherlock knew he would. “Damn, it's not here. Must've left it in my office. So sorry.”

“Here, use mine,” John piped up, offering the electronic device from his pocket. Sherlock was surprised, yet again, by the army doctor. He was letting a demon use his phone, and he had to know what Sherlock was, there was no way he could be in the shape he was without being able to tell. It was so fascinating, in fact, he left his own number in the contacts list after sending the text he needed to.

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” he asked as he handed the phone back, noticing the quirk of surprise on the other's face as he said it.

“Afghanistan.” came the soft reply, as the eyes studied him just as intensely as he had just been studying the other, albeit more obviously. “Sorry, how did you-?”

“I play the violin while I think, some times I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you?”

“Excuse me-”

“Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other, don't you think? And I already know the worst about you.”

“And I know the worst about you, without bringing bloody violins into the mix.”

“But violins are much more important, don't you think?” He got up, and strolled to the door. “I've got my eye on this charming little flat in central London, meet there at 7 tomorrow evening.”

“What? You don't give a bloke a lot to go off of as far as flatmates goes. How about a name, for one?”

“Like you said, you already know the important bit. And the name is Sherlock Holmes, the address, 221B Baker Street. 7 o'clock, Doctor Watson.” With that he strolled out, not daring to look back. There had been no fear in that man's eyes, and just a dash of murder. Living with him could be almost as deadly as living with a demon, or it could be the smartest decision he'd ever make. He could sense it from John, the loyalty he could have. But could Sherlock earn it? Or would John be loyal to his beliefs and kill him the first chance he got?

It was a puzzle, a deadly game, and as soon as he set eyes on him, Sherlock knew he couldn't say no to this game. An army doctor, someone who could, theoretically, be extremely useful with helping him on his cases. And at the same time, a demon hunter who could, theoretically, be the death of him in a most literal way. Even with how well he could read people, Sherlock had no way of knowing which way this doctor would go, friend or foe. And that was the most invigorating thing since Jack the Ripper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading this! And a special thanks to timeywimeyholmes for giving me the inspiration for it!
> 
> I do not own Sherlock, any of the actors or characters, or things like that.


	3. A House Or A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing the flat.

John was about to knock on the door when it opened and a breathless Sherlock was standing there, grinning at him. It was quite the sight. The very human look of joy, with the eyes superimposed in black. Yet somehow, it didn't seem scary, it fit. As if there was no other way Sherlock's face ought to look when he was happy.

“Oh good, you came. We're just up here -Hello Mrs. Hudson! Just the flatmate I told you about!- You'll take the upstairs bedroom, I already have all my things moved in, hope you don't mind.” his voice dropped lower for a moment as he leaned in, still gesturing around the flat that was, quite definitely, a mess. “Of course, you can always kill me and take it, if you'd rather.”

There was something in that tone of voice that made John shiver, something that reeked of- what was it? It took him a moment to place it, to recognize what it was. Charm, he realized, Sherlock was bloody trying to charm him, to get him in bed with him. And even though he was resistant to the effects of most mental effects, he was finding it hard not to go along with Sherlock's unspoken suggestion.

“Fine, I'll take the upstairs room, if you think we'll really need it.” the fact Sherlock had been trying to get John to bed without him knowing gave him some hope. It meant Sherlock had probably only heard stories about demon hunters. He didn't know which things were generally part of their abilities, he didn't know how much he wasn't affecting John. All of which gave John a one up on the other.

“You have a very good point with that.” John let Sherlock wrap his arms around him, feeling his skin tingle with hypersensitivity due to the others more supernatural nature. It was a new experience, letting a demon get close to him without trying to take his life. It was almost pleasant, even, the way his skin heated everywhere they were connected.

But just when he was starting to really enjoy the feel of Sherlock's hands gently exploring his clothed body, one of those long-fingered hands brushed over his injured hip, pulling a sharp cry of anguish from his lips. “Not there. Don't.” He was holding his gun now, slightly surprised that he hadn't remembered pulling it out, or stepping away from Sherlock and standing next to the wall to point it at the demon.

“Sorry. It was, god it was wonderful, but not there. How you managed to get the exact spot through my clothing..” he sighed, shaking his head as he put the gun back where it had been. It was one tiny crack in his soul's shield, his only vulnerability. He didn't know what would happen if there hadn't been the added barrier of cloth, but he knew it could have been deadly. He was mostly immune to powers that drugged his mind, but the physical things they could do, he wasn't immune to those. Just one good stab of -stop his heart- from Sherlock, and a finger at the right place on his hip, and there would be no hope for him.

“Right. I'll just... You can sleep in the bed. The door locks from the inside. I can take the couch tonight.” Sherlock spoke as if it had been obvious all along, the fact that they'd only need one room, the fact he was still going to live here, with him. It didn't matter that John hadn't been sure himself, somehow it just felt right to have Sherlock telling him what his decisions were.

Carefully, he played that thought over again in his head. It was entirely his own. His body or mind, or quite probably a bit of both, trusted the demon.

“Thank you.” he said, looking Sherlock in the eye as he spoke, marveling at how right it seemed to see both demon and human staring back at him when normally it felt so wrong. “And I wouldn't, that is, if you don't touch there, I wouldn't mind if you...” his voice trailed off as he realized he was talking about plans for sleep, which was still hours away. “We can worry about that after I get some stuff moved over, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded with a smile. “Yes. If we have time to move stuff tonight.”

“If?” John gave him a credulous look.

“Well, yes. There's been serial suicides, you see, and I'm anxious to get investigating. Lestrade should be calling me any minute now.”

“Investigating how?” Sherlock was turning out to be very much unlike any demon John had ever met, well, killed.

“Helping the police catch the killer, of course. Consulting detective. It's a wonderful career.”

“Oh is it? I've never heard of it.”

“That's because I invented the job.” With that, Sherlock started to laugh, and John couldn't help but join in. It was so human, laughing together. But their human moment was cut short by the sound of Sherlock's cell going off.

“What's it say?” he asked with curiousity.

Sherlock looked up to him with a grin that was much more in character for a demon. “There's been a note.”


	4. Get You Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crime Scene shenanigans and Mycroft has his obligatory kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter kinda sorta might have almost doubled the length of this fic. Oops?

Going with a demon to a crime scene, not left by the demon and without the intention of killing him, was a new experience for John. Right up there with being flat mates with a demon, and imagining said demon fucking him. Today was a day for new experiences. And John was hoping to keep it that way. Like actually letting the demon fuck him. That would be a good new experience to have.

He shoved the thoughts of Sherlock to the back of his mind as they climbed the stairs -so many goddamn stairs!- to the crime scene. They were rickety, and narrow, and he did not like having to do this so slowly because of his cane. The good news was that he got to stare at the demon's ass all the while he went up the stairs. The bad news was, he was looking at the demon's ass all the while he went up the stairs, and that was not helpful when it came to trying not to be hard when they arrived at the crime scene in question.

When they did arrive, Sherlock rushed in, and John could see his eyes taking in everything, could feel the tingle of power against his skin as Sherlock accessed his senses of less natural nature. It was almost visible, the way the words were floating to the tip of his tongue, begging to be said, but for his own reasons, Sherlock hadn't yet started saying anything. “John. Come give me your opinion.”

This was met with slight shock by John, and more shock by DI Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson. “You can't let him do that-”  
“It's a crime scene for gods-”  
“I shouldn't let your pet do this too-” they chorused at the same time, and all were cut off by the dark glare Sherlock responded with.

“He's not my pet, and he won't mess with anything you haven't documented, and for gods sake Donovan, you could at least give Anderson a better shag so he's not always in a rotten mood.” The words were cruel, almost spiteful, yet the tone of voice was bored. John blinked in surprise. The insults were a formality, it would seem.

Seeing the nod from Lestrade, he went forward to kneel next to Sherlock and the body. He was handed a pair of latex gloves before Sherlock sat back to watch him. With the practiced ease of a soldier doctor, he checked all the usual things, neck, mouth, temperature of the skin, really just about everything to determine a loose how-when that the woman had died. “Been dead a couple of hours. Probably of asphixiati-”

Sherlock chose then to cut him off. “Yes, yes, just like the others, appears to be no signs of a struggle, et cetra, et cetra, and so forth! Boring! But there's more, that you lot have probably all missed. She's an adulteress, here overnight to meet with a lover, and a business trip, so we have two questions. Where's her phone, and where's her bag?”

“She didn't have one.” Lestrade's voice was soft, though he didn't question Sherlock's deduction. Merely, so it seemed to John, waited for the demon to continue.

“Look at her, really look. Her outfit is so put together, she's obviously a modern woman -the jewelry- and the slight splatter from rain droplets on one of her legs. Means she was pulling a case with her, but a small one, overnight bag, and her phone is probably with it.”

The others were silent, all waiting for more. That Sherlock had this much was brilliant, but John couldn't help the feeling that there was more to be known, and Sherlock was just holding out on them. The fact Sherlock was right with his deductions was an obvious issue to John, and judging by the reaction of the others waiting, they all figured as much as well.

“He has it, can't you see? She didn't leave it here, which means he took it with him. But he wouldn't take it with him if he had thought about it. He's been so careful, you see, but we've got him now!” The grin on his face was ecstatic, and John couldn't help but grin along.

“Brilliant.” he whispered, still in awe at how Sherlock's mind worked. He was a Demon, but John could tell that he had deduced the answer from human clues. No magic, no superpowers, just a mind that refused to shut up, he suspected.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Sherlock took a moment to smile at him, a smile that felt as though it was just for him, but then he was off, rushing down the stairs. “Off to find the case! Don't wait up, remember you can have the bottom room!”

John was speechless as he watched Sherlock run off. And leave him stranded there. Alone. With a bunch of coppers. Not that Lestrade wasn't the type of guy he'd imagine going to pubs with later, but the others, John really didn't know what to do with himself. So he let himself be led out by Donovan, both silent as they walked, until they reached the edge of the police tape.

“Be careful about him, Mistah Watson. Sherlock don't have friends. He gets off on this, solving murders, but it won't always be enough. One of these days, we're going to find bodies and he'll have been the one that put them there.” Her warning was said in earnest, but met only with a slight, agreeing nod of the head.

“Yeah. I'll be careful.” even to himself it sounded like he was brushing her off, but he didn't mind. He was brushing her off, leaving as quickly as possible to go home to -see if the bed smelled like Sherlock- sleep.

He only got a few blocks down the street before the first payphone rang. Another few blocks, another phone. It was eerie. Especially since he could sense something not right about the way they rang. He knew it was meant for him, he just didn't know why a demon was looking for him and calling payphones. When the fifth one rang, he gave in. Whoever it was wanted to talk, and talk they would.

“Do you see the cameras around you?” the voice didn't bother with small talk, or even waiting for John to do more than nod, “Watch them carefully, one at a time.” He obeyed the instructions, noticing with a cold shiver how they all turned away from his location. Nothing that happened now would be on camera. “Now, there is a black car with a pretty young woman in it stopping in front of you. Get in.” The voice hung up, and John followed his example, before going to the car with a slight feeling of dread. At least the knife in his back pocket was easy to access in an emergency. It was good to know he had some control over what would happen. Or at the very least he could pretend to.

The ride to wherever it was they were going was relatively uneventful. His attempts to get any information about the “pretty young woman” were shot down quickly, and he was left with nothing to do but watch out the window at buildings he didn't recognize. They were specifically going through parts of London he didn't frequent. He was liking this less and less.

Finally, they pulled up inside an abandoned building, and John wondered if they had taken him all this way for his execution. It was an obscure enough location, no one knew where he was, and lord knew he had made enough enemies among the demon populous for it to be a reasonable assumption. That there was something familiar about the demon waiting for him was no help, it was the same feeling he got every time he saw someone he could swear he had killed before. They were similar, though not the same. And if it didn't look to him like this was one of those times, it didn't stp him from suspecting the worse as he was ushered out of the car.

“Doctor Watson, please, have a seat, I'm sure that leg is bugging you.” there was a such a tone of politeness, fake politeness, in that voice, John nearly gagged. It had been ages since he had had a demon try to use that trick to make him believe what they said. Fake honesty, it always left a bad taste in his mouth.

“If it's all the same with you, I'd rather stand.” he leaned slightly on his cane, and made no move toward the chair. Sitting, he was less defensible, and at least while standing he didn't feel quite so small. What was with the demons and being tall fucking bastards?

“As you wish.” there was a small nod of his head before the demon continued. “You are playing a dangerous game, and I wish to know what your intentions with Sherlock are. Answer carefully, this could be life or death for you, demon hunter.”

Ah. So this demon knew Sherlock, was possibly protective of him. John would have to be careful, but it was a relief to know it wasn't out and out revenge. He had a chance to survive this way. “My intentions? Even I don't know those yet, but I'm not about to kill him, if that's what you're asking. I think a happy announcement might be happening soon, so I'd rather like to be there for that.” He smiled at his little joke. If this demon knew Sherlock there was a slight possibility that they'd talk, and if Watson could leave the impression of being caught in Sherlock's seduction, it would just be that much better for him.

“Is that so? He's chosen a dangerous game to play, hasn't he?”

“Yes, and so have I. Now, do you mind telling me why you kidnapped me? Or was it really just for the if you hurt my brother I'll kill you conversation. Because that is really too short a conversation to need all this for.” he gestured around the empty space, encompassing the car, the abandoned building and the chair.

“If I had wanted my brother to know I was conversing with you, yes, it could have been done anywhere.” The way he said conversing sounded like interrogating to John, sending a shudder down his spine. “But there is something else. I want to be able to keep tabs on him, and who better to get to help me than his flatmate?”

John looked him over again. Sherlock's brother. A demon family. It was a terrifying thought, especially seeing just how intelligent and manipulative these bastards were without supernatural abilities. “I'm not spying on him for you. Whatever your reasons, noble or otherwise. Now kindly send me home, since our business here is done.” He was firm with his words, though nonthreatening. He wanted to get back to Baker Street, to find out what Sherlock was up to, if he'd had any success.

Come to baker street at once.  
SH

The text message came as a surprise, and though John knew he shouldn't, he took his eyes off Mycroft to watch the other messages come in.

And tell my brother to fuck off, you're mine.  
SH

Though if he offers money, take it.  
SH

John smirked at the messages, grinning up at Mycroft. “It seems I've been summoned. Kindly tell your carriage to deliver me? Oh, and Sherlock says fuck off, I'm his.”

This got a response from Mycroft, a very thoughtful expression that lacked smug-ness. It was a good look on him, having to actually put things together in his head, rather than being so high and mighty. For the second time, John found himself almost liking a demon, though he still preferred Sherlock.

“Yes, of course. Anthea, see that he's delivered to my brother in a timely fashion. I have some business to attend to before the meetings tonight. Kindly make excuses if I'm late.” The woman nodded, before opening the car door for John.

It was an interesting response, but John wasn't paying attention to Mycroft's reaction anymore, nor to what the woman -Anthea- was doing. Sherlock had called him his. Sherlock had claimed him. And he had no problems with this. It was a new experience for him, with demons or humans, being considered someone else's in such a possessive manner. And it was yet another new experience that he found he was rather enjoying.


	5. On The Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chase through London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- this chapter contains the first nc-17 material.

The wait for his brother to let his Watson come back to him was excruciating. There were so many things that needed done, he needed his doctor, his hunter, his _John_.There were things to do tonight, places to go, clues to work out, answers, chases, sex. Sex? That last one threw him for a loop, but he knew it was, somehow, on his itinerary. Sex with John, well, he was putting the seduction on pretty heavy, and John was reciprocating as expected, and tonight would have more than its fair share of adrenaline. Even if he could resist, it was likely John would act on his own.

That thought got Sherlock excited once more. He was playing with a dangerous fire, he knew, one that the wrong placement of his hands could cause to consume him, but he didn't regret it one bit. And there was the fact he had run off without him earlier. Afterward, he had regretted it, but afterward wasn't at the time, and at the time he knew he had things to do that he couldn't let John see, not yet. When you used demonic powers to help solve crimes, you didn't always flaunt them in front of your demon hunter flatmate. It wasn't prudent, especially not when trying to get the one up on him.

Sure, it wasn't prudent to let your brother kidnap him while searching -and finding, thank you very much- for the one thing that had been missing, but it was less of a risk. If John still came home to him after, he would know that John's connection with him was much stronger than whatever Mycroft tried to do. Speaking of, John should be here any moment, and Sherlock would be able to brag and boast, and maybe kiss him, just a little, before they went off to dinner. There was so much to discus and he didn't want to do it here. There were too many variables here, and not enough comfort for John. Dinner would be better for his purposes. Food was a comfort thing to most humans, and John did seem to be the type to go with the curve in most ways.

Just most ways, though, not all. He was, after all, a demon hunter, someone who – if the wrong people found out – would be considered a murderer by most everyone that knew him. And yet he was a doctor, and Sherlock would readily say a good man. It spoke volumes that he went to the war, and only did his hunting there. He'd felt it was a duty, but also didn't like doing it on the wrong side of the law. He killed to save lives, not to satisfy his own sense of being like other demon hunters.

“Well, Sherlock? I'm home.” John's voice was coming up the stairs, and it brought a smirk to Sherlock's face. Home, he said, it was perfect. And soon, John would be his, next to him, surrounding him, oh it would be gorgeous. But first, they had business to attend to.

“Good. We're going out.” He stood, before going to grab his coat, laughing a little at the surprise on John's face.

“We are? Why?”

“Because, I found the case. It was obvious, really. Someone stashed it in a bin not far away. But we're going to dinner to discus things. Come along, John.” He put on the coat with a grin, and couldn't resist adding just a little hint of what was to come. Slowly he let himself bend just enough to press his lips to John's, cementing again the spell of lust he had previously started on him. From the look on John's face, it was working marvelously.

“Right. Dinner.” the shorter man blinked up at him a moment before turning to go down the stairs he had just come up. Sherlock loved the way he just obeyed him so readily. It was almost enough to distract him from what they were doing tonight, what they had to do first. They had to go to dinner, and find out how the four suicides were linked.

\- - -

Angelo's was a great place for dinner. It was free, there would be candles, and it gave an excellent view of the busy street corner. Not to mention Angelo himself was good at making John blush. That was something Sherlock loved seeing. He didn't know it until it happened, that feeling of desire to see John smile, to see him flush again.

“So... you have a... girlfriend?” John's voice cut along the slight silence as they waited for the food to arrive.

“No.”

“Ah right... A boyfriend then?” there was something in John's voice that made Sherlock really look at him.

“No.”

“Because it's fine, it all fine.”

“Yes it is, but I don't have either of those because I have you, John.”

And there was the flush again, blossoming in John's cheeks as he looked at Sherlock.

“Right. Of course. I just..” He glanced up and Sherlock felt his breath taken away for a moment. “I never expected someone like you to...” there was a slight shrug of his shoulders, and then food was delivered and John started eating his food, abandoning the thought before it was finished. Sherlock, of course, didn't eat. He rarely needed human food, or rather, rarely wanted it. Yes, he needed some sustenance, but when on a case, spirits were plentiful, and some even offered themselves to him, knowingly or unknowingly. When he had fresh souls to sustain him, he didn't need pesky things like real food. He was more than happy to live off of tea and biscuits during that time.

“You aren't eating.” John was stating the obvious, but with a tone of curiosity. So he didn't know the habits of demons as a whole.

“No. While on a case, the souls of the murdered are enough for me, so long as I keep hydrated, hence the tea.” He was being honest, which surprised him, but he knew John would care. Would care about why he didn't eat on cases, and somehow, for some reason, he felt John deserved this from him, the truth.

“That's... fascinating. You mean, you don't- That is, I kinda of expected you'd...” Sherlock just gave a small nod, looking out the window. There was a reason to be here other than John, after all.

“I know. I used to but... This is more satisfying... In a very human way.” he smiled at the army man for a moment, unable to completely focus on the scene outside. “Now, we do a have problem here. Who would four people blindly trust? Who would be so normal they'd never suspect anything? Not a Good Samaritan, they wouldn't get in a car with a stranger. Not just any stranger.” His voice grew quiet as he looked out the window. “John I need you to send this text to this number.” He handed over a slip of paper, smiling as John obeyed with a nod.

“Now what?”

“You eat, and we wait, of course.” John nodded, looking for a moment like he understood before true realization dawned on him.

“I just sent a text to the killer, didn't I.”

“Yes. Don't answer the call. That text could only be made by the dead woman. He has to think he's failed, you see. Think she's alive. Now we just wait for him to make a move, to show himself.” Again, John nodded, looking all the world like this was normal. To go out with someone that didn't eat, to sit in a cafe waiting for a killer to make an appearance.

This was why Sherlock couldn't get away from John, he realized. For once in his life there was someone relatively normal that understood his world. He would never be able to give this up, the way John tolerated him, the way he was willing to be a partner in simply the most normal of ways. It was like finding something he didn't realize he was looking for.

As he stared out the window, thinking, something caught his eye. “John. That cab. It pulled up where no one was waiting.”

John turned to look too, frowning slightly. “Yes, and?”

“And it's sat there and refused a few people asking for a ride.”

“And?”

“And who else but the murderer would go to that address, and wait for no one?”

John's eyes met his as he said it, and there was fire in them, the delicious fire that would be the end of one of them, Sherlock was sure. With a grin, he stood, running out the door to go after the cab as it started to pull away. If John was up to it, he'd follow, if he wasn't, then, well, Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what would happen, but he hoped John would be following him.

The footsteps behind him confirmed it, Sherlock didn't even have to glance behind, he could just _tell_ that John was following him and could keep up. “This way.” he turned down an alley, mind working through the layout of London, hidden alleyways that would keep them half a step ahead and make up for the fact they were on foot rather than in a car. He took rooftops whenever possible, a birds eye view, a way to keep an eye on the cab, make sure that it didn't stray from the path he expected it to take.

Finally, they were a step ahead of it, and they could confront the cabbie. Fearlessly, he stepped out into the road, right in front of the cab, knowing it was a risk, but one he needed to take, John was at his side moments later, before the cabbie even rolled down his window to stop. Sherlock couldn't remember what was said, exactly, just knowing he let the cabbie drive off with a wave while John pulled him back into an alley.

“You bloody idiot.” he murmured, and Sherlock felt his soft lips press into his own. His mind still felt drowsy, though he didn't know why. John's voice continued, bringing him further back into reality, accompanied by more needy kisses. “He's had something done to his cab. Looked like Angel's dust. I know it''s rare, but god, Sherlock, you could've been killed had you gotten much closer, and be dealing with a lot more than a loss of memory.”

John;s lips pressed fervently down his neck and Sherlock let out a low moan that slowly turned into a growl as John lightly bit his skin. “No.” Quickly, he reversed their positions, pressing John against the wall, his lips and teeth marring his skin. “Tonight, I'm in charge, and I'm all about you.” His hands moved down John's body, exploring him again as his mouth leaned in to kiss him hard.

John returned the kiss eagerly, and Sherlock couldn't help the growl of possessiveness as his hands slid under clothing, exploring unrevealed skin. He let them go where they wished, taking cues from the gasps and moans John couldn't quite hide to know exactly where to touch. Slowly, teasingly, he let his hand start to undo John's jeans. That earned him a delightful whimper of need. He slipped his hand in, reveling in the sounds of pleasure coming from John as he stroked him.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips moving along the slightly stubbled jaw to rest next to his ear. “Do you like this John? My hands touching you? Long fingers wrapped around your cock?” He was grinning, and sure it was evident in his voice. “I bet you'd love my mouth there, sucking you off as my fingers slipped up your ass, preparing you for my cock.” The whimper John released at those words sent a shudder down Sherlock's spine. They needed to get home, to finish this case so he could hold good on these promises. “Cum for me, John, in this alley, begging for me with your thoughts, I know you are. I know you want to. Just do it, John, for me.”

He could feel John's body shudder against him, and he knew there was a sticky mess, but it would be easy to clean up before they went home. It was worth it, even if his pants did get ruined, to see the blissed out look on John's face as Sherlock busied himself with making them presentable enough they wouldn't be drawing stares everywhere they went.

“Home now?” was John's first words, voice horse as if he had been screaming.

“Yes. Home.” With a little smile of pleasure, Sherlock noticed that something else had changed, too. John's limp had gone, and Sherlock could tell his shield was whole again, though even he had no ideas on why that might be. It would be nice, though, being able to touch all of John without death-threats.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of A Study In Pink.

John was still breathless when they arrived back at the flat. “That was... The most fun I've had in... Years.” he said between gasps of air, leaning against the wall before the stairs. It was true, he hated to admit it but it was, it was true that somehow, a demon had managed to give him one of the most entertaining evenings he could imagine. But it wasn't over yet. He knew that too. As Sherlock's flat mate, there was going to be so much more excitement in his life, and not only the tension of not killing his flat mate type.

“It was rather nice, yes?” Sherlock's face was in such a mischievous grin when he said it, John couldn't help but start laughing. Sherlock joined in seconds later, and together any lasting tension melted away. They were just two mates coming back to a shared flat after a fun night. It took a little while, but finally the laughter subsided and they made their way up the stairs to their flat.

Opening the door, John's smile fell. There were police officers combing through everything, and there, lounging as if he owned the place, was Lestrade. That would have been bad enough on it's own, but Lestrade was different. “What the hell is going on here?” John could feel the anger building. His recently relaxed muscles were instantly prepared for action. Sure, he could have just been talking about the police going through everything, but he wasn't. He was wondering why in the world Lestrade, who had been perfectly normal when he met him, was now faintly glowing with a demon's aura. 

“Drugs bust.” Lestrade replied, calm as ever, and John could feel his good mood drop even further away. 

“You find any, let me know.” his face was hard again, all amusement gone from his voice. He didn't care what reason Lestrade had come up with, he didn't want the man in his flat for a second longer than necessary. Or, maybe it wasn't him that was bugging him. He had to entertain the idea that it was all the other coppers invading his flat that made him want to strangle someone.

The idea was entertained further when Anderson poked his head out of the kitchen. “I'd be surprised if there were any drugs in here, what with all the body parts.”

“What is Anderson doing here?” Sherlock was finally speaking up. He had probably been trying to figure out what had happened to change Lestrade.

“He volunteered to be a sniffer dog tonight. In fact, all these men are volunteers.”

“Well, you won't find anything. So get out.”

Lestrade just grinned at that. “Nope. Already found something. A pink case, I believe it was, Anderson?”

“Yep. A pink case, mysteriously alike to the one we were told was in a murderer's possession.” came a smug voice from the other room.

“I found it dumped in a bin down a nearby alley, don't be daft Anderson! If you're going to play Lestrade's sniffer dog, at least do it properly.”

John watched the conversation, silent, near fuming. It had been a long night. Kidnapped, chasing down a cab with his new flatmate, rescuing his flatmate from said cab, getting off by said flatmate in an alley, and then coming to his flat to find it being searched by the cops, one of which was now somehow connected to a demon, though he one and it was all giving John a headache.

“Shut it!” he yelled, startling everyone in the room as he sent glares all around. “We know the murderer isn't here, because he's got her phone, and he called me with it. Okay? And he's in a cab, somewhere. Ready to kill again.”

“How do you know it's a cab?” Lestrade looked at him with curiosity.

“We chased it, and he almost killed Sherlock.”

If the people in the room had been quiet before, they were silent now, hardly daring to breathe at that. Everyone stopped what they were doing and just stared at him.

“Almost...” Lestrade stared wide-eyed between the flatmates, “Is that even possible?”

John gave a huff and nodded. “Yes. Now can people kindly stop ransacking our flat for the hell of it and either get out or be helpful!” His following stare sent many people scurrying, a few putting things to right, others meekly making their way down the stairs. “Thank you.”

Sherlock finally seemed to get his senses back, John had noticed how silent he went as John spoke, surprising, but something he was grateful for. Now they could get to work. “Yes. We need to find a way to tra-”

“Sherlock!” came Mrs. Hudson's voice from down the stairs. “There's a man here said you ordered a cab!”

Looking back on it, John knew that should have been his first signal. But he was distracted, by Lestrade's change, by the way Sherlock moved, by his all too busy night, and hadn't picked up on a thing. 

“Not now, Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled back, going to his computer. “There must be something, the message left by the lady in pink. A reason she was writing her daughter's name...” He looked up at John, his face full of calculations. “John, what would you say if you thought you were going to die.”

“Please God, let me live.” his tone was inflection-less as he answered, merely staring down Sherlock with tired anger in his eyes.

“No John, use your ima-” Sherlock stopped as John raised a single eyebrow. “Oh. Right. Of course.” his eyes flickered from John's shoulder to his hip before giving a small nod and turning back to the computer. “Let's see. An adulteress, with numerous lovers, What would be most important to her? A business woman as well, up to date, a media job... One thing that she'd never go anywhere without... Her phone. It was probably a smart phone, and as such has a GPS device inside. Meaning we can access it from a website. Ooo, she was smart. Gave us a way to find him!”

John migrated with Lestrade to Sherlock's side, looking at the laptop screen with interest. “How'd she do that?”

“Rachel. Her daughter's name, and her password.” Sherlock pressed enter, and suddenly they were in, and there was a little red dot, hovering by the address '221 B Baker St.'

“Sherlock! He says it's important!” came Mrs. Hudson's voice again from the stairs.

“I'll go see what that's about John, you keep an eye on this, okay? You too, Lestrade. We don't know what we're dealing with.”

John gave a nod, confused by what he was seeing on the screen. It couldn't be here, he knew that. There was no way the phone was in their flat. Even after hearing, faintly, the front door slam, he couldn't think of what could be happening. Until the tracker lost its connection. Even then, he didn't really understand what was going on. 

“Lestrade. While we're waiting for this technology to come online, mind telling me what happened?” It was only the two of them, now. The others had left after Sherlock disappeared. 

Greg just answered with a grin, as though he was having far too much fun with this, whatever it was. “Nope. I should get back, I've got a bike to return to it's owner. Give me a call if anything comes up?” He gave a wave as he too left, leaving John alone with the computer.

“Bloody buggering hell.” he murmured to himself as he sat, staring at the computer screen, begging for something to change.

It did. The light flashing again, at a new address. It looked to be a school, closed for the night. John felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what was going on, what it all meant. Sherlock, leaving with a cabbie, the phone being here, the cabbie. John made sure his gun was still secure at the back of his trousers before hurrying down the stairs, address sent to his phone. “I'll be back, Mrs. Hudson!” he called as he left, hurrying to flag down a taxi, shoving a wad of cash at them as he told them where to go and they sped off.

The cabbie had angel dust. The cabbie would so easily kill Sherlock, but John couldn't let him. Innocents had been killed, and while normally he wouldn't care about another demon's death, this was his flatmate, a demon no one but he had the right to threaten anymore. No murderer would kill him first.

When he arrived at the address, he found there were two buildings, and he couldn't tell which one Sherlock had been taken to. With a frustrated sigh, he went into the one on the right, yelling for his demon, opening every door in his frantic search. He was taking too long, the voice in the back of his head insisted, he was taking too long and by the time he found him, Sherlock would be dead, and then he would follow.

“No.” he growled as he opened the last few doors, knowing the chances were high Sherlock was in the other building. His suspicions were confirmed as he entered the last room, only to see Sherlock on the other side of two sets of windows, in a room with the cabbie, about to take a pill John could tell was contaminated even from where he was. It was pulsing with what could only be evil intentions, and John shuddered even while pulling out his gun. He wouldn't let something a poisonous as a pill of Angel's Dust be used to kill any demon, let alone one that was trusted by the cops. 

With a deep breath, he steadied his arm and took aim, waiting only long enough to see the cabbie get hit near his heart before turning and fleeing. He couldn't afford to have Sherlock see that he had just done this, saved a demon's life. He needed the man -demon- to still believe that the dominant part of him wanted him dead. Or at least he needed him to be able to truthfully say that he hadn't seen him. He had no doubt the detective demon could deduce that it had been him, but for now, he would be as inconspicuous as possible.

First things first, he called up Scotland Yard, leaving an anonymous tip about gunfire. Then, all there was left to do was wait out of sight until police tape was up, and a small crowd started to form. He didn't look out of place then, waiting with his hands in his pockets, looking all the world as though he didn't know what was going on, pretending he didn't have his browning stuffed once more under his shirt down the back of his pants.

He caught Sherlock looking at him and gave him his best innocent smile, knowing instinctively that the other had figured out what was going to happen. The detective had been conversing with Lestrade, but now he was making his way to John's side.

“No cane.” he remarked, smirking slightly.

John grinned in reply. “Nope.”

They started walking away from the scene, and, once out of earshot, Sherlock spoke again. “I suppose I should thank you for committing murder on my account?”

“Oh, he was a murderer. And a bloody awful cabbie.” they both started to snicker, grinning at each other. “We shouldn't laugh, it's a crime scene, you know.”

“How about we go have dinner and laugh over that?” Sherlock gave him a sidelong glance and John found himself grinning even wider.

“Sounds good. I'm starving.”


End file.
